The Witch, The Agoraphobic, and The Dursley
by Leah The Mermaid
Summary: When Harry and Dudley went their separate ways, both men assumed they were well shut of the other. Harry is an auror investigating an anti-muggle arson. And guess who finds himself at the receiving end? When the two reunite, it seems they have quite a bit to catch up on...


"FAN OUT! Perimeter-sealing charms—no one leaves the scene, understood?" Harry roared, the instant he cracked into being. Dutifully, the aurors under him scattered to obey. Cases like these usually made Harry wary of shouting "CHARMS" in an all-muggle area, but at the moment the huge inferno engulfing the house in front of him was crackling too loudly for it to be a problem.

"Not going to do much good, mate."

Harry turned to face Ron Weasley, who was standing a few feet away with both hands in his pockets, a casual demeanor that clashed with the serious look on his freckled face.

"You got witnesses?" Harry asked him. "This was definitely anti-muggle?"

Ron nodded. "'Course. That's Fiendfyre. Which means the bloke who started the thing…"

"Disapparated," said Harry. He ran a hand through his hair. He was starting to see specks of gray in it of late.

Both men were spared further silent commiseration by a shriek, followed by a healer jogging up. She was disguised in muggle nursing scrubs, but a subtle and-and-bone cross on her breast pocket made her identifiable to the wizard community.

"You're the aurors in charge?" she said, slightly disheveled. "There's a lady here who's giving us a bit of trouble."

"Wanting to leave the premises?" Ron guessed.

"Not quite," said the healer.

Just the opposite, it turned out. The muggle woman was flailing with all her might against the emergency responders, screaming for them to let her back in her house.

Harry was appalled. He looked to the healer. "What's her name?"

"Elaine Dursley."

"_Dursley?"_

"That's what her husband told me."

With impeccable timing, a familiar voice behind Harry's head said, "She hasn't left the house in eleven years. Can't believe you got her out of the blasted thing in the first place."

Dudley didn't right away recognize the bespectacled wizard who turned to stare at him. His face, which was as piggish at forty-four as it was at seventeen, screwed up in concentration. "You're…but…"

"Good to see you too, Big D," said Harry, but the humor was missing from his voice. Dudley switched his gaze to the healer. "Can my wife and I leave now?"

The healer looked to Harry, who gave a permissive tilt of his head. The odds were slim that any dark wizards were still there to arrest, and the odds of his cousin being one of them were slimmer yet.

They watched the healer turn and go. It did not escape Harry that the awkwardness in the air was more noticeable than the heat from the unquenchable flames destroying Dudley's house. How long had it been since they'd seen each other? Or even _thought _about each other, for that matter? The moment was akin to seeing a fish you thought you'd flushed spring back out of the loo.

"What are you doing here?" Dudley said to Harry, as though the thought had just occurred to him.

"Erm, it's my job. Wizar—my lot did this."

Dudley's face twisted slightly, but it was much more uncomfortable than angry. "Oh. Um…yeah. Right then."

Nonplussed, Harry stared at his cousin. "What, that's it then? Aren't you—I don't know—going to beat me up now?"

"Why?"

Harry got the most peculiar sensation he was either on a hidden camera show, or else slipped through a wormhole into an alternate truth. "You…hate…magic," he said, very slowly and clearly, in the same voice one might use trying to jog an amnesiac's memory.

Just as Dudley was opening his mouth to respond, a young girl with a piggish nose and a mop of thick blondish hair appeared behind Dudley. At once, Harry wondered how he hadn't seen her walk up.

"Er, hello," he said awkwardly.

"I'm Peg. I'm seven," the child said by way of greeting.

"This is my daughter Peg," repeated Dudley, unnecessarily. "Yeah, I actually was kind of hoping to run into you."

Harry gave Peg a long, hard look. "You're joking. I didn't even know you _could_ joke, Dursley."

"Can't."

Though his ever-aging joints made it slightly more difficult than it had been decades ago, Harry squatted down to look Peg in the eyes. "Pleased to meet you. I'm your dad's cousin. My name's Harry."

"I'm Peg. I'm seven," repeated Peg, rolling her eyes as though accusing Harry of forgetting her name already.

"Yes, so I hear. I'm very sorry about your house."

"I didn't do it. Mum thinks I did it. I set a dishtowel on fire once. It was an accident."

"Sounds like you've got some talent in there. Maybe you make things happen when you don't mean to? Other than the dishtowel, I mean?" said Harry with a smile. He was finding it very difficult not to laugh aloud at the irony of the situation. He could almost hear the sorting hat already. "_Margaret Dursley…where to put you…"_


End file.
